Stress Relief
by rockstarpeach
Summary: On a random night in a random town, it's all just a little too much. Set sometime S2. H/C, angst, porn :


Title: Stress Relief

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Summary: On a random night, in a random town, it's all just a little too much. First time fic, a little angsty. H/C.

Rating: Adult

***

"Hey Sammy!" Dean called out, raising his voice so that his brother could hear him over the spray of the shower. He kicked the door shut behind him with his heel, and leaned over to the wobbly wooden table by the window, in the latest in their never-ending string of cheap motels, and put down two brown paper bags. One was filled with sandwiches and candy bars, the other a six-pack. Sam's favourite. "Got some chow!"

He didn't get an answer, didn't expect one, but thirty seconds later the shower shut off and thirty seconds after that, Sam came limping out of the bathroom, still half wet, drops of water falling from his shaggy mop of hair onto his shirtless shoulders. Dean smiled at him and followed one of the drops with his eyes, not overtly, just curiously, down his chest and over his ribs, but stopped tracking it when it crossed a nasty looking bruise on Sam's right side, purple already, and starting to turn black in places.

He whistled and shook his head. "Christ, dude, what the hell happened to you? You look like shit."

"Gee, thanks, Dean," Sam said, and would have rolled his eyes if his entire body didn't hurt too much to bother with the effort. He'd been in the shower for almost half an hour, the water so hot that whatever patches of his skin hadn't been bruised to hell were red from almost being scalded, and he was starting to feel almost human again. He still ached though. Everywhere.

"Five rounds with a demon, _on my own_," he emphasised the last words with a slight growl and awkwardly shuffled a little closer to his brother, stopping and wincing after a couple of steps, his hand moving to his side to cradle the most serious of his injuries. "Because you were… where again? At some skeazy dive, trying to get laid?"

Dean shrugged and grabbed a sandwich out of one of the bags, opening up the paper and folding it down over the corner of the bread, taking a large bite. "You made it, didn't you?" he asked around the food, not bothering to care that he was talking with his mouth full. "Besides. If you had come with me tonight you wouldn't have been on your own. And I keep tellin' ya, if _you_ got laid once in a while, you wouldn't be so uptight. Be a hell of a lot easier to live with," he added under his breath, and took another bite of his supper.

"I'm not uptight, Dean!" Sam snapped, cringing, hand moving to a brand new stabbing pain in his lower back. "Fuck!" he whispered through gritted teeth, trying to relax. If he got worked up, he'd only hurt worse. "I'm not uptight," he said, quieter this time. "I'm tense, because half my muscles are torn, I have massive internal bleeding, and I'm pretty sure my spleen is where my liver should be."

"Fine," Dean sighed, and tossed his sandwich down on the table, thin strips of lettuce falling out to scatter across the varnish. There went his vegetable serving for the day. "Lie down on the bed, and stop being such a baby." He did feel kind of bad, seeing his brother in so much obvious pain, but shit, he _had_ made it out, and it's not like both of them hadn't gone up against demons on their own before. Sam could be such a pussy sometimes.

And he stood by what he'd said. If his brother would bother to get any every once in a while, he'd be a lot more loose. Dean was only trying to help. That's what big brothers did.

"What?" Sam asked, looking to the bed and then back to Dean. "What for?"

"What? You get hit in the head one too many times tonight?" Dean joked, and walked over to Sam, helping him sit down on the lumpy twin sized mattress. "Your little bitch ass ain't gonna stop whining until I at least try to make you feel better," he said, smiling sarcastically. "So roll over."

"Dean!" Sam baulked, pulling back, mouth opening in shock.

Dean rolled his eyes and gave his brother a gentle shove, easing him down on to his back. "Massage, dumbass," he said, and swirled his index finger around in a circular motion, encourage Sam to turn over.

"Oh," Sam said, ducking his head and blushing slightly. "Right." What the fuck had he been thinking Dean meant? Yeah, he was a dumbass alright. He rolled slowly, sucking in a sharp breath as his bones and muscles protested any kind of movement, and tried to get as comfortable as he could on his stomach.

Dean sat down next to him, one leg bent at the knee and tucked up under himself, the other down the side of the bed, foot resting on the floor. He looked down at his brother, at his tense frame, his face, turned to the side, eyes closed, features contorted in pain, and he closed his eyes.

He'd never wanted this life for Sam. Probably wouldn't have picked it for himself either, if he'd had the choice way back when, but now that he'd been living it for as long as he could remember, he was glad. He wouldn't trade those years with his dad, this past one with Sam, the good they'd done, for anything.

But Sam had never wanted this. Had run from it, and now he'd been dragged back in. It wasn't anyone's fault, just dumbfuck luck, and some bullshit about a destiny Dean sure as fuck didn't want to believe in, but Dean still felt responsible. If not for way Sam's life had turned out, then definitely for him.

He was his brother, and Dean took care of him. Always had, always would. Even if that meant acting like a couple of girls, and rubbing his back.

Dean shifted his hips slightly as he turned toward Sam, dick still heavy and significant in his jeans, thanks to some pretty little cocktease who'd been rubbing up against him over the course of two beers, and three shots. She'd gone home, without Dean. She'd given him her number, smiling sweetly, probably thinking that he'd call. But he and Sam were planning on being out of this town by morning, so he'd thrown it in the trash as soon as she'd turned her back.

He rubbed his hands together to warm them up and then placed them on Sam's shoulders, fingers curving forward around the bones, and thumbs working in smooth, gentle circles over the muscles at the back.

Sam stiffened slightly at first, the touch feeling oddly intimate, even after all they'd been through together, but as Dean's hands kept working, slowly moving down his arms and up again, across his ribs, getting lower on his back, Sam started to relax.

Dean's sure strokes, the gentle pressure of his fingers soothing out the tension in his muscles started to get good. Really good. Too good. It wasn't long before Sam almost forgot where he was, how badly he was hurting, and started to just enjoy what it was like to have someone touching him, someone making him feel good.

Dean worked his way down Sam's back, working the kinks out of his brother's aching muscles, increasing some blood flow to the injured areas, encouraging them to heal faster, and took care not to put too much pressure on the bits of Sam that looked especially bruised. He must have been doing something right, because Sam was visibly mellowing, his breathing evening out, becoming deeper, tiny little sighs of pleasure escaping his lips.

Sam let out one especially appreciative little moan, his eyelids fluttering as Dean worked out one stubborn kink, and Dean couldn't help licking his lips, then biting his tongue to keep his own groan from escaping. Fuck, but Sam looked good.

Sam always looked good, tall and lean, muscles hard and well defined under his smooth, sun-kissed skin. And he was pretty. So fucking pretty, hair always getting in his face when he looked down, sweet full lips that should be getting kissed a whole lot more fuckin' often than they were. And sweet Christ, those eyelashes.

Yeah, Sam was hot. And Dean had noticed.

He hadn't known what to make of it at first, when he'd shown up at his place after their dad had gone missing, and realised that his baby brother had grown up real nice, because fuck, Sam was his _brother_. He'd always been a good looking guy, but now he was a _damn_ good looking guy.

He'd always known Sam was pretty. Even back when they were kids, and Sam had had a boy crush on his big brother, tagging along everywhere he went, trying to be just like him. Knew he'd grow up to be a heartbreaker, and he'd always been proud, even if he didn't show it. Always thought, 'yeah, bitches, that's my little brother, and he's cute and smart and he's gonna _be_ somebody'.

He frowned, thinking. Too bad that somebody had turned out to be the leader of a demon army.

Dean had never been interested in another guy before, especially not one he was related to. And he wasn't now. Not really. He could just appreciate what he saw. Sure, he might have had a stray thought or two about getting a piece of his brother's tight little ass, pushing him down on some random motel bed or other, or bending him over the hood of his precious Chevy. Especially after they'd been knocking each other around a little.

But that could always be chalked up to adrenaline, the thrill of the hunt, the euphoria of being alive when it was all finished, and they were bleeding, panting, limping away from whatever disaster they'd nearly averted, and he would never let those thoughts actually fully formulate in his mind. They weren't even thoughts. They were more like… pre-thoughts. Vague notions. It just wasn't something he was interested in.

Not when his head had cleared.

He loved Sam, purely and deeply. Would do anything for him, and no passing sexual fantasy about the two of them was going to cheapen that, take away from what they had, lessen their ridiculously unhealthy need for one another.

_Shit_, he thought as his Sam groaned again, and Dean's cock twitched, and his thumbs slipped just a little too low, under the waistband of his cotton pyjama pants, too caught up in his musings to notice how close to Sam's ass he'd gotten.

He heard Sam's voice in his head, teasing him about confusing reality with porn, and he gave himself a mental slap in the face. He was just giving his brother a massage, trying to take away a little bit of his physical pain. No way in hell was that gonna result in him getting his dick wet.

No way he wanted it to.

He should have just stayed at the bar.

His hands stilled on Sam suddenly, not leaving his body, but not moving anymore either, as Sam sucked in a sharp breath that didn't sound anything like it was because he was hurting, and froze, tension coming back full force, no doubt because of Dean's wandering fingers, and Dean cursed himself. He really needed to pay more attention.

For his part, Sam had been enjoying the massage so much that he truly hadn't noticed the direction Dean's hands were headed until it was too late, until they were working under his pants, brushing over the dimple just above his ass, thumbs trailing ever so slightly across the top of the soft globes.

Hadn't realised that he was hard, either, until he shifted, surprised by his brother's touch, and the sensitive head of his cock, confined by the soft material of his pants, brushed across the bed, sparks of lust shooting through him. He hitched in a breath and, fuck, he moaned, _damnit_, moaned like a little bitch, hard and half naked with his goddamn brother's hands on his ass, and he then he stopped.

He stopped moving, stopped breathing, tried to stop thinking, but damn, that wasn't even close to working. Dean was right. He was fully willing to admit it now. He should have been getting laid more, because this was what happened when he didn't. He ended up reading way too much into a simple favour, and practically fucking a filthy old mattress, and thinking that he sort of wished Dean would move his fingers a little bit lower.

"Sorry," Sam muttered, adjusting his hips, crushing his erection between his belly and the bed. "Cramp," he lied, and blushed, and hoped Dean didn't notice.

The last thing he needed was for Dean to find out about his little crush. Well, no, crush wasn't the right word. Maybe hero-worship. Dean was his big brother, he'd always looked up to him, wanted to be like him when they were younger, so the way Sam felt made a certain amount of sense. What didn't make sense was how sometimes, when he let his guard down, when he was jerking off under the covers and Dean was in the shower, he'd _think_ about Dean in the shower, and come, hard.

The thoughts were gone almost before they were there, pushed to the back of his mind where he didn't have to look too closely at them. Dean was his brother, and thinking things like that was just wrong. Very, very wrong.

Dean snickered to himself, but not so Sam would notice, and started his hands moving again, a little higher up on his back this time. Cramp. Yeah. Dean bet he knew where, too. Well, it was good to know he wasn't the only one.

After a couple of minutes Sam had really started to loosen up, Dean's hands, strong and solid, working out his aches. With each swipe of downward pressure on Sam's lower back, his pelvis was worked into the bed, and the pressure on his hard cock made him gasp, shiver, close his eyes and bite his lip. Dean would have to be an idiot not to notice that he was aroused.

And Dean was a jerk sometimes, but he wasn't an idiot.

He should ask him to stop, he knew that, but he couldn't. It was just so damn good, and Dean wasn't pulling away, or making fun of him. In fact, his hands were starting to get lower again. Not overtly, not so that Sam even would have noticed if he wasn't acutely aware of Dean's movements.

And this time, when the tip of his thumb again slid its way under the waistband of Sam's pants, Sam moved into the touch, jerked his hips just slightly, and Dean's hand lost its grip and slid, taking Sam's pants along with it. He didn't pull far, baring maybe two inches of the top of Sam's ass, but Dean's thumb landed square at the top of his crack, and he tensed, fingers clenching into Sam's flesh.

Shit. This wasn't cool. This was meant to make Sam feel better, not tense him up even more. Sure, he might have been teasing him, just a little, with feather-light touches of his fingers across Sam's skin under the pretext of searching out injuries, with slightly heavier than necessary exhales when Sam moaned beneath his hands, but he hadn't meant to actually _touch_ him. Not like that.

Dean hadn't even noticed how low his hands had gotten, but when one of them slid and he landed _there_, and Sam whimpered and buried his face in the pillow, hands clenching the corners, Dean thought he might have taken this a little too far.

Sam's body was obviously a lot needier right now than his mind knew how deal with, and it wasn't fair to fuck with him like this, however unintentional. Okay, enough was enough. Tomorrow, he was gonna get Sammy a hooker.

Sam clenched his teeth, hissing a sharp breath in through open lips. The pain he was feeling was coming from more than just his body's injuries now. Fuck oh fuck oh fuck! Dean was going to hate him. Dean was going to think he was some kind of pervert, hot for his own brother, and he was going to pull away, call Sam a freak, probably punch him the next time Sam looked at him sideways.

But Sam wasn't a pervert, and _wasn't_ hot for Dean. Not really. Not enough that he would ever actually… shit! Fuck, it had been too long, and what Dean had been doing had felt so good, and Dean was being so fucking nice to him, if you didn't count all the name calling, and Sam couldn't help it.

He went on instinct and shifted his hips, slowly, just a little bit, and then a little bit more, letting his brother's thumb slide, slide, further down his ass, his fingers splayed out, his palms flat across him. He swallowed, heavy and thick like he had something caught in his throat that he couldn't get rid of, and his legs started to shake, whether from nerves or soreness, he wasn't sure. Probably both, and he held his breath, counted to five. Ten.

"…Sammy?" Dean choked out, his voice high and tight, mouth suddenly dry. He had never, in a million years, expected something like this. He'd had the odd fantasy, sure, but never something he _actually_ thought about, and now that he was faced with it, it was… different.

Hot, hell yeah, but different. If this was what Sammy needed, a little bit of touch, someone who loved him showing him they did, giving him something he was clearly missing, then Dean would give it to him. He would, because he was the one who dragged Sammy out on the road, preventing him from developing any kind of healthy attachments with people, and he owed him. He'd do this.

But he didn't really want to. They were more than this.

"Dean…" Sam answered, if you could call it an answer, broken and pleading and starting to unravel. He didn't want this. He needed it though, and that meant he really didn't have a choice. He just knew what his body felt, what his heart did, and no, fuck no, he wasn't _in love_ with Dean, but his hands were better than a stranger's, and now here he was asking his own brother to… what? He didn't even know.

And he didn't want to have to ask, either, not in words. He just wanted Dean to know, to be there, to be what he needed. Dean always did, always took care of him, just… never quite like this before. And Sam felt like an ass for behaving this way, for taking advantage of his brother's generosity because he couldn't keep his stupid-ass libido in check. Fuck, Dean was right. He really needed to get laid more. Tomorrow.

He was gonna get some, tomorrow. A hooker, maybe. He wouldn't feel so bad then about never calling.

But for tonight… Tonight he was just going to go with it. He was too far in already not to.

Dean closed his eyes and moved one finger, slowly easing the tip down Sam's crack, pausing when he felt the dent that could only mean that he was… shit. _Shit_! Sam pushed back, just the tiniest bit, probably hadn't even meant to, swallowing Dean's finger down, pushing him inside up to the second knuckle, and he moaned again.

Fuck, had Sammy done this before? Was he... used to this? Dean didn't think he wanted to know.

Didn't want to think about anything, just wanted to give his brother what he needed, as quickly as he could, and get them right the hell back to normal, as fast as he fuckin' could.

Dean's finger inside him, hell anyone's anything inside him, was an entirely new experience for Sam. A pleasant one, so far anyway, and one that he didn't think he'd mind repeating, but sure as fuck not with his brother. He made a sound, and then another, soft and pleasant, and then he kept on making them.

Kept on keening, moaning, as his brother crooked his finger, pushed it in even further, added another, and rubbed against _something_, holy fuck! something that made the entire lower half of his body vibrate. He could feel his dick get even harder, and he humped down against the bed a few times. A few more times. Faster.

Fuck, he wasn't going to last long, and that was probably, no _definitely_ a good thing, because as it was, he didn't think he'd ever be able to look Dean in the face again, and if he drew this out… well, he'd just have to catch the next bus out of town, on his own.

Dean swore to himself, so softly that Sam didn't hear, and taking the hand that wasn't buried inside his brother, - and fuck, wasn't that a seriously messed up thing to be thinking? - he covered Sam's hip with his palm and gently rolled him on his side, mindful of his substantial injuries.

He lifted his hand, pausing in midair for a moment, the other stilling at the same time. Sam jerked again, sending him back into action as he remembered exactly why the hell he was doing this. For Sam. Everything, always, for Sam. And he moved the hand forward, wrapped warm fingers around Sam's cock, squeezed, tight, and started pumping.

He wanted to get this over with more than he suspected Sammy did, didn't want to drag it out. That wasn't what this was about here, tonight, the two of them. Not about experiencing and touching and pleasure. No, it was about need. Raw and fierce and not something to be even thought about when the sun came up again and everything went back to normal.

_Like Cinderella_, Dean thought vaguely. Or maybe not. He was shit at fairytales.

Sam was sore and tense and what he needed was release, pure and simple, not the confusion that came along with getting fingered in the ass and jerked off by your own brother, so Dean gripped tighter, crooked his fingers just a little more, so that Sam moved in that way, made that noise, that let Dean know he was doing _something_ right, and kept going, fast as he could.

Sure, his own cock could have hammered nails, especially after being at the bar earlier, and his balls were aching. And yeah, okay, so he wasn't nearly as noble as he thought he'd be, not when push came to Sammy writhing around and panting like a little whore. And fine, that's wasn't exactly what he was doing, but that didn't stop Dean from maybe wanting to jump on top and fuck his little brother into the mattress, good and hard.

But this wasn't about him.

And Sam was getting closer.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and pushed forward into Dean's hand, back onto his fingers, tried, tried so damn hard to just fucking _come_ already and get this done. He was panting heavily, so close, so _fucking_ close, cheeks still hot with blood, and now tears too. He hadn't even realised until now that he was crying.

Dean hadn't realised it either, and he clenched his hand around Sam's cock, fingers putting just the right amount of pressure to be considered comforting and not arousing, but it had the effect of being both. He leaned down further on top of Sammy, covering his back with his own front, put his mouth over Sam's ear.

"Shhh," he cooed, nonsensical murmur, meant to soothe. "Shhh. Just let it go, baby brother. Let me take care of you."

"Dean, Oh, God," Sam, answered, covering his face with an arm, so close to coming. It wouldn't be long now.

"I'll always take care of you, Sammy."

A little twist of Dean's wrist, a flick of his fingers, and Sam cried out, a strangled yelp dying halfway up his windpipe. He came, heat and shame, and God it was horrible, but he _needed_ it.

He came down quickly. Much more quickly than he ever had before, even when it was just from a quick whack job in the bathroom while Dean was waiting for him so they could hit the road, and he didn't even have time for a fantasy.

He could feel his cum underneath him, when Dean let him go and he rolled over again, hiding the evidence of what they'd just done, and he bit his lip to stop from saying anything, or making any noises, while Dean took his other hand back, and pulled up Sam's pants.

He took a steadying breath. Well, it was a breath anyway, but its steadying effects left something to be desired, and he cringed, and held still when he felt Dean get closer again, and hoped that he wasn't going to hit him. He wouldn't blame him if he did. He'd pretty much just made the guy jack him off.

What was Dean supposed to do? Say no? Sam knew he never would. Knew Dean felt an obligation, and wouldn't ever deny Sam anything he wanted, or needed. And he'd taken advantage. He was an ass.

Dean hovered, wanted to wipe his hand off on the bed, the hand that was covered in Sammy's spunk, and fuck, yeah, that was… weird, but he thought it'd be too insensitive. He thought about lying down, putting his arms around Sam, making him feel safe, like he used to when Sam was young enough to be afraid of the dark.

He thought about leaning in, giving Sammy a kiss. Not on the lips or anything, just… maybe the forehead, or the shoulder, or somewhere manly like that, just to let him know that nothing was broken, like he must be thinking.

But he didn't.

Sam didn't look like he wanted company, and Dean really needed to jerk off, anyway.

"You should eat somethin', Sammy," Dean said, in as normal a voice as he could manage, pushing up off the bed, and standing next to it. He looked to the table, with the forgotten supper he'd brought in, and started to walk towards it. He picked up his own sandwich when he got there, and took a bite. "You look like shit."

Sam turned his head, looked at Dean, smiled the tiniest bit, or tried to, as his brother spoke again around a mouthful of what was probably salami, but Sam wasn't going to ask.

Dean threw his food down again on the table. He wasn't even very hungry, just thought Sam should eat, and he wanted to set an example. Dude. What the fuck was that about? He wasn't 10 anymore. He rolled his eyes, at himself, but Sam probably thought it was at him, and _good_, and he headed into the bathroom.

"Eat dude," he called, over his shoulder, and closed the door behind him, before turning on the shower and stripping off his clothes, stepping inside. Yeah, he needed to take care of business. And he was totally gonna think about Angelina Jolie while he did.

Sam sat up slowly after the bathroom door closed behind Dean, and he used part of the blanket to mop up the wetness under him, before balling the sticky sheet up and using it to cover the wet spot on the fitted sheet. Fuck. He really should have thought that through. Not that he'd been thinking much of anything a few minutes ago.

He pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes, turning and rubbing, stopping any more tears from falling, and let out a shaky breath. He glanced at the table, at the food Dean had brought, and fell back down on the bed, burying his face in the pillow. With any luck he'd be asleep before Dean got out of the shower, and if not, he'd pretend. He sure as hell didn't want to have to talk right now, and he wasn't hungry anyway.

The sandwich would still be there tomorrow, and if not, his brother would just get another one, and shove it down his throat.

Dean would leave him alone tonight, probably didn't want to go anywhere near him anymore tonight, but he wouldn't let him go very long without eating.

Tomorrow, things would be okay.

Dean always took care of him.

END


End file.
